Broken Visions....Broken Truths
by Kyron
Summary: *Sorry...I have to reload...again...chapter one ended up missing...* War...a trivial afair to some..life or death for others...the people count on one...the ultimate leader...Mirai Trunks...but does he have the courage? Only time will tell
1. The Fight

Okay…I have had this fic written for a while…but I'm going to end up changing a lot of it…but here's the bit…I do NOT own DBZ…duh…k, now that the hard part is out of the way, enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Fight

HOPE!!

The word flooded his mind over and over again. HOPE!! HOPE!! Continuously it flowed like the waters of a river, spilling over the walls of his subconscious. He felt he was drowning, an enormous pressure on his chest forcing the last amounts of air from his body, making him inhale the icy depths. He was falling deeper and deeper into the murky darkness…eyes tightly shut against the growing pain in the back of his mind. It felt like Hell, hot and burning yet cold and freezing at the same time. They boy finally managed to open one eye…then the other. The scenery was all the same, all around him. An overwhelming darkness shadowed his features but the bright and fearful burning of his crystal blue eyes managed to pierce the darkness. He looked all around him…the darkness everlasting and ever menacing. Panic began to seep into his head, his pulse quickened and his mind reeled. There was no way out. 

He spun himself around, ignoring the pain of his protesting muscles…frantic…frantically trying to find a way out of this dark hell. His lungs burned in agony, his blood hot with fear and rage…but they would get him no where. The denseness of his surroundings still pounded upon him…it seemed to be taunting him. At times, a small light would appear in the distance…only to disappear a moment later. It offered him a way out than snatched it back from him savagely. 

Finally, he stopped his hectic spinning. The fire in his lungs had flamed at a nearly unbearable peak, racking his body with fierce stabbing pains. But he ignored them…now was not the time for anger…nor pain. He closed his eyes and forced his now ragged breathing to slow, much against the protest of his air starved muscles and lungs. He was trying…trying to use his training to focus. There had to be a way out…no place was completely impenetrable…that much he was sure of. He began to concentrate, all his powers, all his energies…he utilized them now. They were his lifeline…

Several moments passed. His mind was being forced to the breaking point…the strain of the space had lessened its hold over his thoughts as well as his body…but it still lingered near…waiting for the moment in which its prey would falter and it could claim him again…But it would be left alone…a light appeared, very similar to the ones he had seen in the distances of his nameless prison. Only this one was right in front of him. It radiated a soft glow, much like a halo around the moon. It seemed to call him, drawing him to it's light. Cautiously, he reached out to touch the glowing orb before him. His hand made contact…but the light did not burn. It was as warm as a fire aglow in a darkened room. Comforting. The fear left his eyes and joy nearly overwhelmed him…the light began to brighten…it seemed to want to show him something…

He stepped ever closer to the shining object with awe as part of its center vanished to reveal another place…the cream colored walls, the small desk, and the sheathed sword resting on the back of the chair. It showed him home…

He felt himself inhale a sharp breath, his heart caught in his throat and refusing to return to its normal place in his chest. He swallowed hard, once again reaching out to the orb…and the image. Moments before his hand made contact with the scene, voices sounded through the image…very familiar voices. He drew back, slightly surprised and nearly lost all concentration. Slowly, the glowing orb…his salvation in this dark pit…began retreating into the depths. He felt himself inhale a sharp breath, fear knocking on the doors of his thoughts. Quickly, he recovered the remainders of his senses…forcing his fear to subside for the second time during this encounter, he began to focus again…harder this time, pouring forth every thing in is soul to re-establish the connection with the outside world. 

Sweat began to bead on his forehead, but instead of straining him, it gave him confidence…the knowledge that even a place such as he was still bound to some set of rules…it was the rope he had been looking for…and he grasped it firmly. 

The light came forth…slowly making its way back to the young man standing in the middle of the black abyss. It neared him with ever growing speed…but instead of stopping before him as it did before, it continued. He felt his entire soul and being surge as the light entered him. It filled him with the hope he had been longing for but yet the fear it caused seemed great as well. He felt his heart begin to pound in his chest, his breathing coming in forced and ragged gasps…


	2. Confussion

Chapter 2: Confusion

Suddenly, it was over…all the pain, all the agony…it vanished, leaving only a groggy tiredness. He felt like lead, all the muscles in his arms and legs felt as if they weighed tons. A slight groan escaped his throat as he tried to rise, the light lavender hair cascading its lengths over his shoulders. He grasped his head in his hands, trying to slow the sudden spinning motions that threatened to force up whatever might be in his stomach. 

Several moments passed before his head cleared enough for him to see straight. Carefully, he opened his tightly shut eyes and raised them…the lights of the place were too bright, causing yet another wave of nausea…this time causing his stomach to release. 

He draped himself to the side and allowed his body to finish with the sudden contractions. After it was over, he slowly brought his hand to his mouth and wiped the foul tasting liquid away. Once again he tried to straighten, succeeding only after much strain at the painfully slow pace. He observed his surroundings. A darkened room, the walls falling apart leaving behind small piles of rubble. A soft humming noise emitted near him, the sound coming from the small fan sitting next to where his head had rested. Also near him sat a single long candle, halfway burned down, the flame still dancing atop the wick. The place he now sat…it looked like a crude cot of sorts; consisting of a worn out blanket and a tattered pillow. 

He knew the place…it was home. Not what one would usually call a "home" but it was all they had…

He remembered every thing….the dream, and even worse, the reality. He sat in Capsule Corporation. Or rather what was left of it. The remains belonged to the Briefs family…of which, he was born into. Trunks Briefs sat in one of the vacant rooms of the once grand building. His thoughts were muddled with the visions he had seen…and how they seemed so similar to his current surroundings. A movement in front of him caught his attention, causing the previous thoughts to fade. The door at the head of the room opened slowly, bright lights outside causing a silhouette on the incoming figure. But the lights caused massive pains behind Trunks' eyes, forcing him to shut them tightly. He groaned as he brought his hand over his face. But just as quickly as the light came, it vanished and the door closed with a soft click. He heard footsteps coming towards him, heavy set ones that seemed filled with the command of the owner. The soft rustlings of the clothes…and the sound of metal on metal…the person was armed but when they approached Trunks, they slowed and stopped a few feet away from him. 

Trunks finally managed to open his eyes again, forcing back a second wave of nausea. The person before him stood tall. The tattered black boots he wore looked as if they had seen better days, but so did the rest of the outfit. Battered and torn light blue pants and the torn black shirt, the sleeves torn away. Only one thing looked worth having…the sword he carried at his side. The hilt was decorated with intricate designs etched in the platinum plating and its scabbard was made out of dark tanned leather with platinum fittings and very well maintained. The mans countenance consisted of a chiseled face, deep set brown eyes and shortly cropped black hair. He had a commanding air that surrounded him, one that could ask soldiers to follow him to hell and they'd comply. Trunks held a deep admiration for the man…he wasn't old…about Trunks' age. Trunks himself was only 23 at this point…yet the man in front of him seemed so much more aged than that…he knew that he did as well. The other man stood there, waiting quietly and patiently for Trunks to speak. Trunks regarded him intently. The young mans name was Damon Maxwell…one of his best friends.

"Damon…" he started.

"Yes sir?" the Damon replied.

Trunks shook his head. He hated formalities such as these. Damon was his second in command…Trunks lead the army. The "army" mostly consisted of civilians…or whoever was still alive in the war. Through all the hardships they had all suffered, he and Damon had become close friends, most of the time dropping the formalities that had become standard on a volunteer basis. 

Trunks sighed, taking his eyes away from his second-in-command.

"How many do we have left?" he asked the younger man.

Damon hesitated before answering but one quick sharp look from Trunks' blue saiyan eyes brought him to speak.

"Not many…when you left with the retrieval party with the 15 soldiers…only 5 returned, counting you. That makes the entire army around 300." he said, not looking at Trunks.

Trunks closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. 

"Dammit! Eleven…I lost eleven…" said Trunks, a deep pain and anguish hidden in his voice.

Damon stood quietly, not sure how to deal with the situation.

"It was just a simple retrieval mission…what the hell went wrong?" Trunks said quietly.

"It looks like you got ambushed…they went after you first…they're getting smarter…" reported Damon.

"I know…that's what I'm afraid of…" replied the elder boy. 

Damon reached behind him and retrieved something…another sword. Trunks' sword. 

Trunks' blue eyes locked on the sheathed weapon, the red leather scorched and burnt, soot covering the hilt, tarnishing the gold handle. He reached for it absently. Quietly he sat, his eyes locked on the weapon sitting in his lap. After several minutes, he unsheathed the weapon…the once glimmering steel now blackened and warped. The blade was cracked, badly…and with their limited resources, it would be nearly impossible to fix. His eyes narrowed at the thought…the weapon before him had saved his life on uncountable occasions. He watched as the firelight glinted off the uncovered steel. 'Firelight?' he thought, looking up. During his thoughts, Damon had managed to build a fire and had also left, leaving his leader alone in his thoughts. Trunks sighed…he often wondered why they had chosen him. He knew he was a good fighter, but in some aspects, there were so many more who could lead the army much better than he could….someone who wouldn't lose eleven fighters in one ambush…

He shook his head. He knew better than this…better than to doubt himself or his abilities…

This was one of the many lessons his mother had taught him…she had said that it was one of his fathers main principles…

His father….the infamous Prince Vegeta. The father spoken of so many times by is best friend Gohan. The father admired for his strengths and despised for his attitude…

And the father he never knew.

His mother had spoken so frequently of Vegeta…telling Trunks all the storied pasts…Planet Namik, Frieza, Cell…all of it. Most of them he had interpreted as bedtime stories but as he got older, he realized a lot about Vegeta…and himself. He wasn't normal. He wasn't even human. Powers…unimaginable powers lied with the saiyan race…an all but extinct breed…of which he was one of the last. His joy and his curse. Even his powers, powers belonging to the Super Saiyan…they weren't enough to defeat the current threat…

His thoughts sifted…the newest threat…creatures. Creatures created by humans…created by genetic work, much like the Cell he had defeated here. Except with one main difference…these were nearly invincible. They were called Zeons. The Zeons were hideous things. Each stood around three feet in height, highly armored in a thick exoskeleton, donned in small venomous spikes, making a head on attack highly dangerous. They were chameleons…changing their colors to adapt to the surroundings when they felt threatened enough to do so. They had been created to serve as the ultimate weapons…mindless drones made completely in a laboratory and sent to opposing countries to attack and conquer. They did a good job…more were made…the amounts quickly growing…

Every thing went along fine…until they started to think on their own…completely ignoring the computers feeding them information and instructions from a distance. Then it all went to hell. The Zeons continued the conquering rampage but conquered at will. This brought them to the present situation. And Trunks' army was one of the main players in the fight.

Once again, he shook his head. Carefully standing so as not to bring forth another wave of nausea, he left the room, strapping the sword to his back as he closed the door.


End file.
